


Ashes to Ashes - Dust to Dust

by KindaSmolCanadian



Category: Linked Universe - Fandom, The Legend of Zelda: Four Swords
Genre: (as a treat), (just a bit though), Also a character is temporarily blamed for a death, Angst, Blood, Body Horror, Death, Four (Linked Universe)-centric, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hurt No Comfort, I know the summary makes it sound like it is, It's rough y'all, Not a someone else splits with the four sword fic, but i don't know how to tag that, slightly worse than cannon typical violence, that was not their fault
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28558089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KindaSmolCanadian/pseuds/KindaSmolCanadian
Summary: Unarmed against a Lynel, this isn’t going to be pretty.As that thought solidifies in his mind Wild finds himself stumbling, tripping backwards over some obstacle on the ground. When he looks down he expects to see a tree root breaking through the earth, maybe a boulder. What he does see looks like a blessing from Hylia herself.It’s the four sword.---Wild's never had the best luck with weapons but surely the sword Four's so proud of can stand up to a few hits.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 94





	1. Denial

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the amazing KinbariTeaHeathen for beta reading this and helping inspire me to take this from a frantic brain dump when I was in a bit of a bad place emotionally to an actually finished work! I couldn't have done this without you!

Swing – dodge – swing – parry – repeat.

After what feels like hours of fighting the pattern is becoming a mindless repetition. Relying more on the memory beaten into his muscles by years of experience than any specific teaching from his half-forgotten memories. Wild’s arms are shaking, he notes, when he swings his blade up to block a lizalfos’s strike. He’s exhausted. Time becomes fluid and difficult to measure while fighting but the sun that had still been high in the sky when the first monster had burst into the clearing where the heroes had made camp was now kissing the horizon. That first attacker had not been alone, and the wave of monsters that followed had quickly splintered their group, driving them off to different parts of the forest they’d made camp in. The last he’d seen of any of his companions was Twilight in his wolf form running at top speed through the trees pursued by a small mob of monsters. His mentor had been bleeding from the shoulder but there was nothing Wild could do except continue his own fight.

Most of his senses are devoted to the lizalfos he’s currently dueling but he’s distantly aware of the clanging of metal on metal off to his left, suggesting at least one of his companions is still up and fighting. It’s a small relief, lifting some of the exhaustion from his body. Freshly invigorated, he turns his full focus back to the fight.

Swing – dodge – swing – parry – repeat. 

He’s so close to killing it - just a few more swings and… 

An unsettling thunk to his left draws his attention away from his fight and he falters slightly, nearly dropping his blade when the lizalfos brings its weapon down. The fight and the lizalfos are the farthest thought from his mind, however, when Wild spots the source of the noise. In an unconscious heap against the base of a nearby tree, lays the smallest hero. Red is beginning to seep into the green of his headband and running in rivulets down his face.

Relying purely on muscle memory, Wild dispatches the lizalfos - just a few more swings like he thought- and runs to check on Four.

Up close it’s worse. There’s blood in the smithy’s hair and a patch of it on the tree above him giving Wild quite the vivid picture of the origin of the sound that had caught his attention. The head wound seems to be the worst and most concerning of Four’s injuries but the small hero’s body is littered with cuts and quickly forming bruises. His brightly coloured tunic is torn in several places and stained with blood, some fresh and some beginning to dry, in even more. He’s still breathing though. He’s still alive. Now all Wild has to do is keep him that way. Looking around he begins seeking out whatever monster Four was fighting.

It’s not hard to find.

There’s a massive lynel running full tilt towards them.

Fuck

Wild readjusts his grip on his blade and charges towards the oncoming lynel. He has to keep it away from Four, even if the smithy wakes up he’s in no condition to fight. As he draws closer to the lynel time seems to slow. Wild watches it’s every move, readying himself to retaliate. There! It begins to raise its blade for a downward swing. Dodging isn’t an option, he has to keep himself between the monster and Four, so Wild raises his blade above his head to block the strike. 

They’ve been fighting for nearly an hour now.

This sword is good but nothing can stand up to Wild for long.

The lynel brings his blade down.

The swords connect and with a resounding crack Wild’s shatters in his hand.

Before abandoning him, Wild’s sword managed to slow the swing enough that he’s able to roll to the side and only gets a shallow cut down his back. As Wild rolls back up to his feet he sees the lynel turn to face him. Okay. He can do this. He’s fought lynels before. He’s unarmed though, he’s going to have to do something about that. Beginning to back away from the lynel Wild begins fumbling for the sheikah slate at his side. As his hand continues to connect with nothing but air he begins searching more frantically. He’s backing up faster now as the lynel begins to follow him. The slate is gone, he must have dropped it earlier in one of his fights, it could be anywhere at this point.

Unarmed against a Lynel, this isn’t going to be pretty. As that thought solidifies in his mind Wild finds himself stumbling, tripping backwards over some obstacle on the ground. When he looks down he expects to see a tree root breaking through the earth, maybe a boulder. What he does see looks like a blessing from Hylia herself. 

It’s the four sword. Clearly dropped by Four himself when he’d been fighting the lynel. Wild knows how attached Four is to his blade, knows he never lets anyone else touch it. He knows that. But if he doesn’t do something they’ll both die. It’s a bit small for him but desperate times and all that. So, resolving himself, Wild grabs it.

Nothing happens.

Which after all it had been hyped up was a bit underwhelming but also relieving. With the amount of care Four took with the thing Wild half expected to be cursed just by touching it. But nothing happens. He’s fine. Armed once again, Wild drops into a battle stance and prepares to face the lynel.

* * *

Meanwhile, Four is having a very bad day.

The second someone else touches _his_ sword it snaps him back to consciousness. 

Everything seems slow at first, he feels separated from the world around him. All his senses are dulled and the sounds of battle are muffled. He’s never dealt well with head injuries, and this one is no exception. Slowly, he regains awareness and the world comes rushing back in. The first feeling he registers is pain - his head is killing him, all his limbs are aching and it feels like someone drove a log into his chest. The pain is quickly drowned out by a new sensation. An innate wrongness that he can’t quite place, he’s dizzy and disoriented from the hit to the head - he probably has a concussion - but there’s something more than that, something worse than that. That’s when it clicks. Because this feeling is _wrong_. It feels wrong having his, their? No _his_ sword - worse the vessel of his _soul_ in someone else’s hands. No one else was meant to wield his sword, no one. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong. The sensation was creating goosebumps all over his skin. It felt like his hair was standing on end. The air around him felt charged as though energy was building up around him. _Wrong, wrong, wrong_. 

The stream of voices that have filled his head in varying intensities since he was eleven reach a fever pitch. At times the voices are a comfort, a reminder that he is the embodiment of a family, four brothers so close that _they_ become the indistinguishable _him_. Other times, days when he can’t do anything because his limbs won’t cooperate and his words come out garbled, they’re a frustrating cluttered mess pressing out on their skull, longing for the independence they once had. Now, they’re a wave of force. Their voices overlapping don’t detract from each other or jumble into incoherence, instead they build together overwhelming in their intensity as they chant their mantra in his head. 

_Myheadhurtswhathappenedtheswordwhotooktheswordsomeonehastheswordnononononotheycan’tnonononothat’soursnooneelsecanwielditnonononono_

Cutting through the panic, one voice calm, cool, and solid like stone, _Priorities, please. Who has it and how do we get it back?_

That -

That was an excellent point.

Who had his ~~their~~ sword anyway?

Forcefully peeling his eyes open, blinking against the light, Four tried to distinguish the hazy figure several meters away from him. Blearily, he could make out light blue, and longish blonde hair.

Wild.

Wild had ~~their~~ _his_ sword.

_**No.** _

In an instant all the energy from the air around him seems to hit Four like a bolt of lightning. His reaction is instantaneous, all the sluggishness from his injuries is gone. His head is clear. Clearer than it’s been in ages. For once there’s no discord in his mind, no struggle for the power of decision. Just one panicked thought that comes pouring out his mouth with the power of four voices

_**“DROP IT!”** _

Four is struggling to his feet now. His mind may be running in peak condition but his body isn’t. It’s not moving the way he wants it to. It’s not fast enough. He’s limping slightly. None of that matters though he has to get to Wild he has to. He won’t though, he can tell. His strength is waning quickly. The best he can hope for it to get his message across to Wild. He still hasn’t stopped screaming. An unfiltered stream of words flows out of him as he yells at Wild to “DROP IT WILD I’M SERIOUS THIS IS LIFE AND DEATH YOU HAVE TO DROP IT NOW _**PLEASE!**_ ”

* * *

Wild hears Four screaming something distantly. He’s too caught up in staying alive in the fight against the lynel with only the small blade for protection to process the words. The tone registers though, Four is scared, he’s terrified. There must be another monster approaching, maybe already here, that must be why Four’s so scared. As risky as it is, Wild spins away from the lynel to take stock of the situation

There’s nothing there.

Just Four.

His broken and bloodied body makes a gruesome image as he struggles toward Wild. Four is limping to the point of practically just dragging his left leg along the ground behind him, the blood gushing from the gash on the back of his head is coming faster now, coating his face in gore. The most striking part of the image is his expression though. Face contorted in agony, his eyes are wide, terrified and desperate, tears pour from them cutting lines through the blood and grime on his cheeks. Words are still ripping themselves from his throat as the smithy screams his lungs out. 

Over the cacophony in his mind and in his ears, one sound catches Wild’s instincts’ attention.

The swish of a massive blade slicing through the air behind him. 

It’s only the years of experience and the muscle memory of thousands of fights that allows Wild to turn and raise the four sword in time to block the incoming strike. The force of the blow is still enough to force Wild to drop to a knee. Then, time seems to slow, and in a sickening repeat of the beginning of Wild’s fight with the Lynel he feels the telltale pull of magic a moment before Four’s blade shatters in his hand - dispersing into the air in blue wisps of light.

For a moment, everything seems to freeze as Wild tries desperately to process what’s just happened. Then the tension snaps and it feels like the world is compressing inwards towards his empty hand where the sword had just been. Wild’s breath is sucked away as the air is ripped from his lungs, coalescing with all the air from his surroundings to form the impression of a phantom blade of air in his hand. Distantly he notes the lynel collapsing clutching at it’s throat, struggling for breath that simply won’t come. There’s a pause where the world stands still and everything is completely silent. The faraway sounds of battle as his companions fight throughout the forest they’ve found themselves in disappear. In this moment of nothingness, Wild realizes that Four has stopped screaming and is deathly quiet. 

There is no noise. 

Until suddenly there is.

With an explosive crack the four sword reforms in his hand as a fissure shatters a path through part of the gemstone embedded in the pommel stone of the blade. The air that had coalesced around his hand expands outward, blowing away from the sword in a vicious torrent. Noise has returned to the world but he still can’t hear anything from his surroundings. Nothing gets past the roaring of the wind. He barely even notices as the lynel is thrown away from him and bashed against a rock. 

As the wind fades, a new sound reaches Wild’s ears for the first time in what feels like an hour but was likely only seconds.

Four is screaming.

Not the angry panicked screams from before. This is something guttural - pained and wordless. Turning back to face his companion, Wild stares in horror as he watches cracks expand in an intricate web like shattered glass starting from Four’s left hand. Through tears in his tunic the cracks are visible as they stop their expansion around Four’s shoulder. Blood pours from the new fissures in his skin, adding to the gore already coating him from previous injuries. Tears drip from his face at nearly the same rate as blood gushes from his ruined arm.

And

He’s

Still

_Screaming_

In shock, Wild looks back down at his hand, now hanging limp after the exertion of holding it through the explosion of wind. He’s still clutching Four’s blade in a near death grip. Somehow, incomprehensibly, the sword is still perfectly intact with the exception of the crack running through the green section of the four coloured gem set into the pommel stone. He stares at it, uncomprehending.

And suddenly Four’s screaming words again. He’s pulled a long piece of steel from the bag at his side. Wild remembers him picking it up at a market in Sky’s hyrule, rambling a mile a minute about wanting to try forging with metal from a different hyrule, debating the effects of latent magic on metal with a deeply engrossed Legend. The happy memory forms an impossible juxtaposition with the reality before him.  
Because Four is staggering forward on barely functional legs while swinging the steel bar at him like a weapon. 

Four grips the metal desperately in his right hand, his left far too raw and slippery with blood to possibly grip the smooth metal. Wielding a weapon in his non-dominant hand and overwhelmed with emotion his swings are sloppy as he advances. Regardless of his state or stature, Four is still a trained and experienced hero. There’s enough power behind his attacks that Wild’s instincts kick in and he does his best to dodge, backing away as Four pushes forward. His brain begins to catch up to the situation and he finally tunes in enough to process the words Four’s screaming. His sentences are choppy and garbled in instances but the main point is fairly easy to grasp - if not to understand - given how much he’s repeating it. Tears still streaming down his face, Four is looking at Wild with murder in his strikingly blue eyes.

“DEAD HE’S DEAD GREEN DIED _YOU KILLED HIM_ SO I’M GOING TO - NO PLEASE - I'M GOING TO KILL YOU HOW COULD YOU TAKE HIM FROM ME US THEM HE’S DEAD AND IT’S YOUR FAULT - NO STOP - YOU DIDN’T LISTEN AND NOW HE’S DEAD _HOW COULD YOU_ \- AND NOW YOU’RE GOING TO DO THE SAME?! LISTEN TO RED AND _**STOP!**_ ”

As the final word rips itself from his mouth, Four’s grip on the bar falters and it slips from his hand flying off carried by the momentum of his swing until it collides with a tree and falls to the ground at it’s base along with a spray of bark and wood chips broken off by the collision. Disarmed, Four seems to deflate and sinks to the ground sobbing. 

“I didn’t I don’t I’m not - It’s okay you stopped you listened - No it’s never going to be okay again,” the garbled words continue to flow from Four as Wild falls to his knees before him gently cradling the four sword. As soon as it enters his field of vision the smithy snatches the blade from Wild’s hands, running his fingers over the damaged gem. His digits leave blood in their path that seeps into the fissure turning it into a gruesome imitation of those littering Four’s left arm. He continues to sob, his jumbled words eventually giving way to a soft chant of “no no no no no”. Almost resigned, he finally wraps his hand around the hilt and there’s a flash of light. 

* * *

The uneven terrain is doing nothing for Legend’s already aching feet after a day of travel and over an hour of combat as he tears through the forest at top speed. He doesn’t know what happened and what he’s going to find when he stops running but between the screaming and the explosion of wind from the east of the woods he knows it can’t be good. As his feet pound against the ground, he spares a moment to glance to the side and sees Twilight scoop up a clearly exhausted but still running Hyrule without breaking his stride, only wincing slightly at the strain the action placed on his bloody shoulder. Carrying the healer towards the source of commotion much faster than his own legs had been. 

With the help of his pegasus boots Legend knows he’ll reach the problem first but he’s confident the pair will be right on his heels. Continuing to push forward, he does his best to take stock of the other Links in his vicinity. From behind him rings the familiar clank of Time’s armor and the rustle of sky’s sailcloth as more of his fellow heroes rush towards the scene. 

Finally Legend breaks through the dense foliage into a clearing and skids to a stop. 

The first thing he sees is Wild, lightly injured but generally fine, on his knees, eyes unfocused and staring into the middle distance with a look of horror on his face. Legend notes a lizalfos corpse off to one side and a massive lynel laying dead, by a rock coated in black infected blood. 

The next thing he sees sends his mind back to one of his first adventures and a horrible temple from his youth. To four now familiar boys wielding four familiar swords. 

The one in a green tunic is gently laid out on the ground. He looks like broken pottery. There are cracks all over his body and, in some areas pieces have fallen off - revealing glimpses into a seemingly hollow body. 

The boy in the red tunic sits at the green one’s head. He’s sniffling and occasionally pauses his work braiding flowers, blades of grass, and a feather earring into the green Four’s hair to wipe at the tears streaming down his face. His breath hitches as he cries but no words escape him except the occasional high whining sound as he presses his eyes shut and scrunches up his face, often nearly crushing the flora in his hands. 

Nearby, the one in blue is placing some of the little rocks Four refers to as kinstones in the palms of the corpse’s hands, over his eyes and in his pockets. His face is contorted in anger, seemingly with nowhere to channel it. His tears are quieter than his red companion’s as they pour over, coating his cheeks in liquid. Also contrasting him from the other, he seems to refuse to wipe away the tears or otherwise acknowledge them in any way. 

Finally, the boy with the violet tunic is piecing together the shattered remains of a familiar blade on the green Four’s chest. His headband is clearly failing to perform its purpose as his hair falls in a curtain in front of his face, obscuring it, where he leans over the corpse. Although his tears are hidden from view he’s clearly crying as his body shakes with sobs. He’s the only one speaking, mumbling something far too quiet for Legend to make out at this distance. 

Legend’s grace period granted by the pegasus boots expired as Twilight carrying Hyrule bursts into the clearing next to him and freezes. The other heroes are quick to arrive after that, one by one being struck still by the scene they’re faced with. The three copies of Four are the only people moving in the clearing. Eventually they seem satisfied with their work. Gathering around their fallen companion, one above his head and one on either side, they fold his hands onto his chest so his hands meet over the reconstructed sword on his chest. Jarring in the near silence of the clearing, a light tone rings out as his hands connect and the kinstones in either palm join together to form one. 

The red Four gives his companions a wobbly smile as he wipes at his cheeks. “A sign of good luck,” he comments, ducking his head and gently running a hand through the green one’s hair. 

To his left the blue one lets out a wet scoff “You really think I didn’t make sure to put matching ones in his hands?” He aims for incredulity but it’s jumbled by the underlying warmth of the statement and the sadness in his voice as he finally speaks. 

“ Aww, you do care,” The one in violet chuckles, voice rough from crying, as he ducks the halfhearted punch thrown his way. 

They all drop silent at the accompanying response though. “Of course I care, how could I possibly not - he’s my brother,” the boy in blue chokes out as more tears rip down his face. The red Four’s face scrunched up in sympathy and he bit his lip, offering a sad smile while reaching a hand out to each of his companions. They accept the proffered hands and reach out across the body of their fallen friend linking hands with each other. They form a triangle of arms kneeling above their fallen counterpart. 

When they next speak it’s in a language Legend’s never heard before. A strange but somehow almost melodic chirping - somewhere between a bird song and a mouse’s squeak. They chant in unison, voices rising in volume as they build on one another. As they do, the green hero begins to dissolve, becoming motes of dust carried up and away in a swirling dance by a gentle breeze as the voices around him reach a crescendo. They begin to dim after that, slowly fading out as the air carries away the pieces of the body. 

When they finally stop chanting, a few stray flowers and a green kinstone fragment are all that remain of the boy who once laid before them. 


	2. Anger (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I guess we're really doing this huh?  
> \---  
> Losing Green had left them with scars that would never truly heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So - I guess I'm writing more chapters. Thanks to everyone who commented and left kudos on the last chapter, the positive reception this fic has been getting really meant a lot to me! 
> 
> I was working on the next chapter but school and responsibilities really slowed me down. I got to a decent point to break the chapter into two parts so this isn't quite what I wanted it to be but more is coming. 
> 
> I have a lot of midterms in the near future though, so I can't make any promises about when the next chapter will be up until those are out of the way.

Three weeks. 

It’s been _three weeks_ since the tragedy in the lost woods and Four _still_ isn’t (aren’t?) talking about it. Legend lets out a huff leaning back against one of the many stone pillars supporting the vaulting ceiling of the abandoned dungeon the heroes are using as temporary shelter from the raging thunderstorm outside. 

Turning to look at the link in question revealed a newly familiar sight. Having returned from an adjoining room with what little flammable material he (they? This was getting confusing and it would really help if Four would just _**talk**_ about it!) could find, and was carrying it over to where Sky was attempting to assemble a fire to warm the cool air in the temple. Part way there, Four was sent tumbling to the ground. Small chunks of wood scattered across the floor when he seemed to begin taking a new step before the previous one was finished, off balancing the smithy who began to flail his arms in an attempt to regain his balance second too late to actually accomplish anything. 

Four has been like this ever since whatever the hell happened in that clearing, Legend reflects as he watches Wild rush to help the small hero to his feet. He was less coordinated, movements and reactions a bit sloppy in a way they never were before and always either a bit too fast or too slow. On the rare occasion that he did speak, it was jumbled and generally in short clipped sentences, never expressing complex ideas. The change was stark from the admittedly quiet but otherwise well spoken smith Legend had come to know who often had surprising wisdom to contribute, especially when dealing with conflict resolution and teamwork. 

Something had changed though. 

Legend wasn’t sure it would ever change back.

It was a shame, the smithy had been growing on him, despite his misgivings. He shuddered at the memory of a similar cold stone dungeon and the now familiar faces he had fought there.

He wondered if they would even be there to fight now.

Probably not.

One of them was dead after all.

The clatter of wood against stone followed by the resounding thump of a body colliding with the floor announced Four’s return. Wild was on his feet in an instant, sprinting across the main hall of the abandoned dungeon to drop to his knees at Four’s side. “Oh goddess Four! Are you alright? Are you hurt? Should I get Hyrule?” The questions were spilling from his lips as his hands wavered over the hero lying prone on the floor in front of him unsure where to settle but pointedly avoiding putting pressure on the spiderweb of scars up Four’s left arm.

“I’m fine, really. Just tripping over my own two feet,” Four replied, tone light, flickering with humour. Then in a sudden wave of animosity and frustration, “I’m not made of glass! I’m not going to break just from tripping!” The statement was followed up with a bitter laugh “hah, not broken, good one.” His eyes unfocused slightly as he hissed, seemingly at himself, “ _shut **up**!”_ Weeks ago, the display would have had Wild calling for help from Hyrule and frantically checking for a head injury. Now, he just bit his lip and offered the smaller boy a hand up. The unnerving normalcy that Four’s emotions changing fast enough to give him whiplash had settled into was concerning.

Apparently remembering Wild’s presence again, Four was quick to reashure “But really, I’m all good,” offering a weak smile that quickly crumbled as though it took too much effort to maintain as he accepted the hand and was pulled to his feet.

Wild continued to flutter around Four, helping to pick up the scattered wood and generally being the mother cucco the others teased him for being on the rare occasion someone attempted to lighten the mood after one of Four’s spills. They’d learned quickly that any jokes at Four’s expense in those moments only lead to a defensive, angry Wild.

_Does he really think picking up some chunks of wood is all it’ll take to earn back our trust? He can’t be serious._

_Come on Blue, you’re being mean. He’s doing his best. What happened wasn’t his fault, taking you emotions out on him won’t make them go away. He didn’t know. We never considered it could happen, never warned the others._

_Oh what?! So it’s OUR FAULT?! IS THAT WHAT YOU’RE SAYING?!_

_**BLUE!** You know that’s not what he meant. He’s hurting, just like you are, just like I am. We can’t fall apart, we’re all we have left. It may be hard without our leader, without our brother, but we’re stronger together._

The argument was an old one, reignited recently by Green’s death. Red, Blue, and Vio, because they hadn’t been Four since a shattering sound echoed through a clearing, had been trying their best to hold themselves together. They patch up the cracks in their soul with tricks they’d learned when they’d all first replaced the four sword, before they’d learned to settle into a mix of consciousnesses, sharing influence rather than constantly fighting for the proverbial wheel of their shared body. It was a rough patch job, obfuscating the true extent of the damage but not truly repairing anything. 

Losing Green had left them with scars that would never truly heal. 

Red clung to his remaining brothers, playing the mediator as he always had, desperate to prevent the cracks in their soul from severing them from each other. 

Vio, without his leader’s guidance, found himself rising to Blue’s challenges more often. All while falling into a leadership role himself and failing to live up to his fallen brother’s prowess in uniting them.

Blue began lashing out more than ever. His anger, previously tempered by his brothers, was even more overwhelming than it had been when they’d first split. Back when they were more character traits than people. 

Wild bore the brunt of this new fury. The blinding rage that had led Blue to attack their fellow hero in the aftermath of Green’s death had faded but he was still unable to forgive the amnesiac as his brothers had. He appreciated Wild’s assistance in dodging Legend’s attempts at interrogations or interventions, but, in general, the coddling just made him feel exposed. He knew they were shattered but there was no need to advertise that fact to the world. 

Being treated like glass made the cracks feel even deeper.

**Author's Note:**

> There's vague plans for three more chapters, one for each of the remaining three colours, that I might write if this gets enough interest but for the time being I marked it as complete since it works as a stand alone piece and I don't know that I'll ever write the following chapters. 
> 
> Also, in case it wasn't clear, the colours' ceremony for Green was my take on a minish funeral.


End file.
